Same Eyes of Blue and Red
by Hareta
Summary: set one week after the Kuruta genocide, the pain and doubts of living alone . . .***sequel: Of Assassin Origin. set a few days before Killua ran away . . . R and R
1. Default Chapter

Same Eyes of Blue and Red  
  
by Kura   
  
(note: this happened one week after the Kuruta genocide; Kurapica is on a barge that has just left the island where the Rukuso region can be found)   
  
  
  
The color blue has a soothing effect . . . that's what they always say . . . the color can calm you, absorb all your daily troubles . . .   
  
  
  
The young Kuruta held on to the railing tight. He looked down from the deck at the cool blue waters of the ocean below. He stared at it, in a trance. And gradually, until it was clearly visible, pain was written all over his face, one hand came up to his stomach as if he just received a blow . . .   
  
  
  
The color of the sea . . . blue. All of his tribe members had blue eyes, but his best friend's was the only one with the definite blue of the ocean. He greatly admired their beautiful color, but never had he anything to describe it. He didn't know, never saw the ocean until today. He only knew of his tribe, of the forests of Rukuso where their little village was concealed within, of the light blue river he had been taught how to swim in as a child . . . he knew only of what are already gone . . .   
  
  
  
Angriness swept over him again. His body suddenly warmed, his eyes turning bloody red. He tried to control it, tried to subdue it, as a picture of his late friend flashed in his mind. Those ocean-blue eyes . . .   
  
  
  
He heard the silence . . . silence disrupted only by his own desperate, futile cries . . . Kuruta . . . Kuruta . . .   
  
  
  
His eyes turned back to blue, his whole body shaking . . . he felt something warm and sticky on the palm of his hand. He let go of the steel bars and was surprised to see blood, he had been gripping the rail too tightly . . .   
  
  
  
. . . the smell of blood hung in the air . . . the still fresh smell of death . . . no one alive . . . they're all dead . . .   
  
  
  
He took out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the red fluid off with it. His katana fell and he stooped down to pick it up with his bruised hands. He couldn't feel less of the pain the cuts brought, he was experiencing much more deep inside of him . . .   
  
  
  
. . . the scarlet eyes . . . they're gone . . . all of them . . . spider . . .   
  
  
  
The painful feeling he sensed in his heart spread throughout his body, almost making him fall to his knees. He couldn't stand it anymore. Lest he collapsed there up at deck, he went back to his room. Half-falling, half-lying down on the bed, he pressed his face upon his pillow and moaned endlessly. Shutting his eyes, trying to block off the aching inside of him. He missed his family so much . . . his friends . . . the peaceful life he had always took for granted . . . he missed having someone, not being alone . . .   
  
  
  
Pain . . . thirst for revenge . . . the Genei Ryodan is going to pay . . .   
  
  
  
He had sworn upon his friend's graves . . . they're not going to escape him. The whole group will die . . . die with their blood on his hands, smeared upon his clothes . . .   
  
  
  
He brought his knees closer to his chest, his whole body writhing in pain . . . his hands were bleeding, his own blood staining the bed sheets . . . he couldn't breathe, couldn't move any longer . . . it was as if his soul has left his body, but the two are still one . . . all he could do was cry . . . and he cried, cried until his own sobs and whimpers seemed so far away . . .   
  
  
  
If this is dying, I'll gladly accept it . . . I'm so alone . . . so lost . . . lost, I don't where to go . . . Dad, what am I now to do. . ?   
  
  
  
. . . Mom, take me with you . . . don't leave me here alone, please. . !   
  
  
  
Images of the Kuruta tribe flashed before him. He was just hallucinating, he knew it, but somehow it felt good a cleansing, fresh wave of anger that he welcomed . . . Genei Ryodan . . .   
  
  
  
Kurapica lay on his back, looking at the ceiling, gasping. The pain was gone, he knew now what to do . . . he had promised, he'll avenge his tribe . . . the Kuruta . . . he's no longer lost . . .   
  
  
  
Death and life . . . what is life . . .? what is death . . .?   
  
  
  
Exhaustion swept over him. His whole body begged for rest but he didn't want to sleep. He knew what would be in his dreams, the same vision he had been seeing for a week now, every time he closes his eyes . . .   
  
  
  
But weariness came over him and everything went black.   
  
  
  
I heard a scream . . . then two more that were much more fearful . . . they grew in number . . . until all I could hear were them . . . each one more terrified than the last . . . so many that it seemed that the trees were screaming too . . .   
  
  
  
I heard angry cries and the clashes of steel . . . the weapons . . . the katanas were drawn . . . I saw it clearly . . . the battle that followed . . . replacing the screams with the sound of blood splashing on the ground . . .   
  
  
  
I stood deep inside the forests of Rukuso . . . I couldn't move . . . I just stood watching . . . motionless and entranced . . . Bodies of people I've known all my life falling lifelessly to the ground . . . blood . . .   
  
  
  
My father . . . I saw him fight . . . he was good . . . he was really good . . . but the man he fought with won their little spar . . . he must have been really lucky . . . their skills matched fairly . . . but my father never did believe in luck . . .   
  
  
  
He fell to the ground . . . his opponent stooped down and took out his eyes . . . I screamed . . . NO . . . but my voice was caught in my throat . . . that's when I saw it . . . spider . . . the spider sign at the back of the man who killed my . . . father . . .   
  
  
  
My friends were dying . . . and all I did was stand and listen . . . until I heard the faintest of cries . . . a little girl was crying . . . and amidst all the noise . . . that was the only thing I heard . . .   
  
  
  
I felt rage deep inside of me . . . rage mingled with sadness . . . my eyes turned scarlet . . . my mind back in focus . . . I ran as fast as I could back to the village . . .   
  
  
  
. . . but the screams were dying out . . . the sounds of struggles and fighting no longer there . . . silence . . .   
  
  
  
I finally reached the village . . . but there was only silence and death around me . . . empty sockets stared . . . the eyes that were crimson just a while ago were gone . . . along with lives . . . everyone's but mine . . .   
  
  
  
I heard someone crying . . . I looked around . . . but there was no sign of any other life except my own . . . my vision got blurry . . .   
  
  
  
. . . and I realized   
  
  
  
. . . that the one crying   
  
  
  
. . . was me . . . 


	2. Of Assassin Origin

Sequel to Same Eyes of Red and Blue  
  
Of Assassin Origin  
  
by Kura  
  
(note: this happened a few days before Killua ran away from home, he is in the dense forests that surround their mansion.)  
  
  
  
Lives -- I have ended so many of this, killed so many people, that death has almost been a constant thing around me when I was young. Playing as a child meant killing someone, simple assassinations were often assigned to me by my father as a means of my training. My family always took pride in me, believing I was to be the greatest among us, the best assassin there ever was. I spent my childhood learning all the skills of a killer, knowing how to endure great pains as they were inflicted upon me by my own siblings, getting used to seeing death, managing to feel nothing as I kill.  
  
  
  
The life of an assassin isn't that bad. It's actually kind of fun. The smell of blood, the people screaming for help, the futile attempts to save loved ones . . . they amuse me. Interesting enough, all the person I have killed had the same look in their eyes before they died. All of their eyes reflected anger, sadness, confusion, and the wish to live. Oh, there were a few ones who fought back, underestimating me. Really, being a kid is the perfect camouflage. All of them died like the rest with same emotions in their eyes.   
  
  
  
But I'm no longer contented. It has been so long that I last felt happiness. Killing gives you pleasure, yes, the great feeling of knowing you have power over others, but it can never give you joy.  
  
  
  
What is this thing that I lack? I have been taught that the things that value most are money and the family honor. Doesn't my brother, Illumi, live for those very things? And he seems so undisturbed with his life. Why then do I feel this way? So incomplete and lost? What is this feeling I'm longing for?  
  
  
  
Tired, I'm so tired, both in body and in mind. I'm tired from the frolicking I've done today and I'm tired of my life, the life of a killer. Everything remains the same. I'm bored, bored out of my mind, bored to death with all these things that just seems to repeat themselves over and over again. Yeah, maybe that's it. I think I 'lack' something because I'm no longer amused with what I have.   
  
  
  
But why? I never got tired of it, only now.  
  
  
  
Killua sighed and lay down on the patch of grass of the clearing he was in. Blue jays flew above him and the sun shone bright in its high position in the sky, half-hidden behind snow-colored clouds. He saw clearly their young guardian, Canary, from where he lay, and a frown appeared on his face as he thought of how the girl takes her job too seriously, as she stood there in the middle of the road leading from the gates with a stern look on her face.  
  
  
  
  
He sat up, remembering the time he had tried to talk with her. She smiled at him politely as he approached, but wasted no time in informing him that he was not supposed to mingle with the 'servants of his house'. He have asked her what she meant, but the girl only replied that they were not meant to become friends in a sad note, and turned away.  
  
  
  
Friends . . . when has been the last time I have felt that I had ones? Never. I don't think I have ever had a companion in my whole pitiful life. I never had such a need for it and my family has always taught me that friendship is a useless, meaningless thing.  
  
  
  
You're wrong!  
  
  
  
Birds that perched themselves upon the tree flew away hastily as Killua punched its trunk. He withdrew his fist and saw blood flowing out of small cuts in it. He looked up at the tree and saw the mark he had made.   
  
  
  
Canary's cheery voice was heard from afar as she played with their 'pet'. It was full of mirth, but Killua can sense the slight sadness in it. Like him, his younger sister never had any friends. For a moment, he even wondered if any of them had had any friends. Sure, the family has connections with rich people all over the world, whom they had been hired by, but not one of them has ever established that relationship called 'friendship'. He knows every servant of their home by name, but never had he dared call out and converse with them, except that instance with Canary anyway.  
  
  
  
But to wonder makes you forget of your surrounding, and turn you oblivious to everything else. One second lost in thoughts can be the death of you, a moment of carelessness. He was lucky he hasn't yet died as he thought about these things. He shook his head and sighed, standing up to take the trail back to their house.  
  
  
  
Night.  
  
  
  
Killua lay silently on his bed, staring up at the cold marble ceiling. Darkness surrounded him, but he can clearly see through it. And what he saw in his room is nothing of any difference from last night, making the darkness to normal people seemingly more desirable as to have something new. Ordinary kids would have been shivering in fright as they stay in it, imagining the most horrible but impossible things the black shroud may be hiding.  
  
  
  
He never had such fantasies for he can see through the darkness, through every illusion or lie. While the kids of his age take on different adventures every night in their pitch-black rooms, he would be staring at the ceiling, which stayed dull to him, as it always has been.  
  
  
  
He rolled to his side. There he goes again, thinking of things that meant nothing. He should focus on what there is to do tomorrow, accompanying his brother Illumi in an assassination their father had arranged for them both. A bit of moonlight entered his room as the curtains moved because of the wind, and he remembered his father's words . . .   
  
  
  
. . . Killua, you should observe your brother carefully on this mission . . . You are sure to learn a great deal in his moves . . .   
  
  
  
Killua groaned involuntarily at the memory. So dull, he's really bored with this kind of life. He should really get away from here after this mission . . . 


End file.
